


Plushwolf

by the_ragnarok



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Breeding Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Knotting, M/M, Male Lactation, Not!Fic, Podfic Available, Somnophilia, Top Derek Hale, approach with caution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So suppose Stiles slept every night with his plush wolf doll, to ward off bad dreams. Only that doll was Derek under a spell, and he came alive in Stiles’ dreams. Specifically, in the type of dreams that involve <i>coming</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plushwolf

**Author's Note:**

> This also has a lovely podfic recorded by the talented Jinxy, [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/806243).

All Derek knows is that he’s in a bed with this kid, and that kid is _his_ , and acts accordingly. Stiles just thinks he’s having a very confusing sexual awakening and the books say all fantasies are normal. 

Derek is not human enough to understand complex ideas like “age of consent”. Or “consent”, period. He only came back to life at first, a little bit, when Stiles had a wet dream and came all over him. What was he supposed to think?

Sometimes things overwhelm Stiles, or even start to hurt, but he figures it must be what he wants since his mind came up with it. And anyway if he really freaks out he wakes up, and there’s only him and Derek in the bed.

It’s dark in the room and too warm under the covers, and Stiles wakes up to the smell of sex. Dried come in places he could swear he didn’t get any when he jerked off the night before. Stiles finds teeth marks on his wrist and figures he did it to himself in his sleep, but he puts his mouth against them and they don’t match.

Ever had those dreams where you can’t run, can’t move a muscle, only feel the hot wet breath of _something_ on your neck? Stiles can’t turn and look. the only thing he can do is close his eyes and grind down against the bed, sweating on the pillow. The back of Stiles’ neck is wet when he wakes up, how the _hell_ did that happen, and it doesn’t feel like sweat.

  
  


Every night Derek tries to fuck him but Stiles is too tight, so he ends up just rubbing up against Stiles’ hole and whining.

Stiles figures his subconscious is trying to tell him something so one night he gets some lotion

and slicks his finger, pushes in. After the initial discomfort it feels good, too good, even coming is not enough. Stiles has to push his face against Derek and moan.

He exhausts himself like that, coming one time too many, falls asleep fucked-out and open. that night he dreams of a hot body between his legs, something foreign and much larger than his finger slipping in. Just the tip, then everything is wet. Everything.

(Derek barely even got the tip in before coming like crazy. Good thing, too. He would have ripped Stiles apart, too excited at finally being _inside_ him. Derek wouldn’t know to be careful.)

When Stiles wakes up, the bed is a freaking _lake_ of jizz, and his balls hurt, and his hole hurts, and he feels _amazing_.

He doesn’t do the thing with the finger again for a while, though, scared of his own body and what it does. 

After a week he dreams of that wet hot breath again, but it’s sliding down now, slicking his hole, wetting it. Stiles moans and squirms. It’s almost ticklish, but relentless, and Stiles can’t move, not even to spread his legs wider.

The first time Derek fucks all the way inside, Stiles screams so hard he wakes himself up.

The next night he barely sleeps, staring at the wolf doll at his bedside. It’s just a doll. It’s not real, not any of this.

  
  


Stiles starts thinking about it at day time. In gym class, in the showers, he thinks, “I could have someone’s dick in me.”

He reads about lucid dreaming. He very deliberately keeps the wolf doll exactly where it is.

Stiles writes everything he can remember in a notebook, as soon as he wakes up. In code, in case his dad finds it.

(He wants to get a vibrator, desperately, but how would he hide  _ that _ from his dad?)

The dreams get clearer, slowly, night by night. The fur Stiles feels against his back isn’t his plushwolf. It’s coarse, and it smells like sweat in a way that makes Stiles’ mouth water, and there’s a strong heart beating behind it. Pounding.

In a few more nights, Stiles learns to discern words from the low growling sounds he hears. Or. A word. “Mine.”

It emboldens Stiles, to the point where he thinks about fighting the wolf off. At least for long enough to get answers. But when he struggles, strong teeth clench on the back of his neck, just shy of piercing the skin, and a snarl sounds.

The wolf is rutting against Stiles again, and Stiles realizes it hasn’t tried to fuck him, not in a while. Stiles closes his eyes and arches his back up, wiggling his butt, trying for enticing and probably winding up ridiculous.

Apparently it’s enticing enough for the wolf, though. His grip on Stiles’ neck slackens so that Stiles can turn around. 

The thing Stiles sees in the dark is not quite a wolf, but very far removed from human. Its claws are sharp.

Stiles gulps. He spreads his legs, bares his neck, half horny and half terrified for his life. The wolf is on him again. 

“Mount you,” the wolf says, words slurred through his fangs. “Want. Mount.” 

Stiles’ breath hitches and he nods, frantic.

The wolf’s teeth close around his throat again, just enough that Stiles can’t scream when the wolf starts fucking him.

This time it lasts. Stiles doesn’t, making a mess on his stomach at the first thrust, and again some time later. The wolf doesn’t even seem to notice, rutting into him like a machine, slow and hard and merciless.

At his third orgasm Stiles is crying, can’t help it, sobbing and trying to curl around the ache suffusing his entire body. His thighs burn and his throat hurts and he’s all sweaty and sticky with come.

Derek licks his face and doesn’t pause. 

“Like my tears, asshole?” Stiles chokes out. 

At that Derek does stop: “Yes.”

That’s all he says, right up until the last part, where Derek says, “Hush.” 

“What—?” Stiles starts, and yelps as Derek fucks him full, and while in him, starts swelling.

“No,” Stiles says. it comes out a whisper, a choked plea. “I can’t, I can’t.” Derek noses at Stiles’ cheek in sympathy.

It doesn’t end, it hurts and it hurts and gets _bigger_ , and there’s nothing Stiles can do to escape it until at last he gives up, goes limp all over, and then the swollen feeling changes, too. He can’t tell pain from pleasure now.

“That’s it,” Stiles hears Derek say, distantly. “Good boy. Good bitch.” human lips kiss Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles gets paranoid at school, sure that everyone looks at him and knows. Wonders if the lacrosse team is gonna bend him down and fuck him, take turns, now that he’s let a fucking animal mount him. Not sure if that scares him or gets him hot.

Derek seems to pick up on it, the next night. He gets downright talkative. (Well, for Derek.) “Who?” he says, sniffing Stiles’ neck.

“No one.” Stiles isn’t even sure what Derek’s talking about, let alone why he’s quivering like a leaf. 

Derek growls. “My dick not enough for you?” 

Stiles is on his hands and knees, sobbing into the pillow, before he can respond.

There are rules, even if Stiles doesn’t know them. Derek comes to life when Stiles is sleeping, and when he’s getting off. 

So one time Stiles is whacking it to internet porn only to hear a snarl behind him and feel the points of claws digging into the shoulders of his shirt.

“That’s mine,” Derek growls in Stiles’ ear, fanged hand wrapping around Stiles’ cock. “This too.” He kneels and mouths at Stiles’ hole.

Then he makes Stiles sit in his lap and makes disparaging huffs while watching Stiles’ porn. “Everyone’s a critic,” Stiles grumbles. But he shuts up pretty fast when Derek knots him. 

“Not now,” Stiles begs, whispering. “My dad—”

“Didn’t stop you from jerking it.” Derek’s hand tightens around Stiles’ cock, painful, and Stiles gasps and comes again.

  
  


(Stiles needs to face it, he’s owned now. So owned. Except he could get rid of that toy, it’s just fluff in daylight, but he. Doesn’t. And he has no idea why.)

Wondering about it makes Stiles decide it’s time to head out and get himself laid for real. It’s a pretty major flop because he’s obviously underage and also the sheriff’s kid, nobody even looks at him too hard, so he comes home discouraged.

Derek comes alive the _minute_ Stiles walks into the room, snarling and backing him into the wall.

“No,” Derek says. He can’t seem to make words work, just says “No,” audibly frustrated as he rips Stiles’ clothes off. His teeth are way too close to Stiles’ personal bits for comfort, but hey, when has this ever been anything like comfortable?

Derek doesn’t fuck him that night, but come morning Stiles is sore as ever. Just, for different reason. He’s bruises all over. Stiles’ entire inner thighs, nearly up to his balls, are mottled with red tooth marks, skin purpling in their midst.

Derek didn’t let Stiles get off the entire night, even while his hot breath enveloped Stiles’ dick like the worst tease. “Don’t get yourself off,” Derek breathed like a warning. Stiles eyed the marks on his stomach and nodded.

It’s not easy, though. Every movement he makes pulls at the bruises and they’re like a million reminders under his clothes. And he keeps thinking about it, what if other people used him like Derek did, what if they fucked and fucked him. Maybe he would get off in the middle of all that, and nobody would even notice because he was still taking dick.

And maybe he’s doing it on purpose, too, hoping Derek catches it off him. 

Derek’s still all day, just a doll, but when Stiles falls asleep, he’s almost instantly woken up by a roar. 

“In heat, bitch?” Derek is heavy on Stiles’ back. His fingers push into Stiles’ mouth and Stiles has to suck them to keep the claws from doing damage. “You’ll regret it.” Derek’s voice is thick as he says that, blurring into another growl. Stiles closes his eyes and focuses on the fingers in his mouth. he’s old hat at getting fucked by now, can take it like a pro.

Weirdly, for once, Derek is almost kind. He licks the side of Stiles’ face, mounts him slowly if not carefully.

On the other hand, Derek also picks Stiles up so he can neither rub against the sheet nor against his hand. “Greedy.”

Stiles can take the pain but the frustration of being fucked but not able to come drives him out of his mind. “Need,” he pants out, “let me.” It’s almost funny, he’s talking like Derek now. Derek nuzzles him and doesn’t give.

Then Derek is stilling, shuddering, and Stiles knows this means Derek is coming. Knotting Stiles. Normally this is a cause for both dread and excitement, but now it’s just awful, all crushing buildup with nowhere to spend itself.

“Shh,” Derek says, and Stiles is mortified to see he’s crying. He hasn’t in a while. His eyes are just leaking – and they’re not the only parts of him that do; Stiles’ cock is dripping come, but there’s nothing like an orgasm there.

Derek starts moving in him again, too soon, the knot not softened yet. Stiles buries his face in the pillow and begs.

“Please – stop. let me come. I don’t care anymore. Please. Please.” Derek hums and kisses the back of Stiles’ neck.

The mess on the bed when Stiles wakes up is nothing new, and neither is his hard-on. his swollen chest is unusual, though.

Stiles has to flee chemistry in ignominy before the two wet circles on his shirt spread. They’re barely there, but still. His chest still hurts when he gets home, nipples hard and aching from rubbing against his wet shirt all day.

Derek is actually downstairs when Stiles locks the door. “Learned your lesson?”

Stiles sighs. “The more your vocabulary grows, the more I hate you.” But he lets Derek take his shirt off. Lets Derek suck on his nipples, slowly. Stiles buries his hand in Derek’s hair and wonders at how human Derek seems now.

At how little difference it makes to Stiles.

Of course, then Derek upends him so that Stiles is on the living room carpet on his hands and knees, so he protests. “Dude, hasn’t my butt suffered enough?” 

“Gotta breed you until it takes,” Derek says. 

Stiles freezes long enough for Derek to get into position, but it’s a lost cause. He still doesn’t let Stiles come, fucking him slow and deliberate until Stiles needs to scream. 

He does bite Derek’s hand. Turnaround being fair play and all that. 

For a mercy, though, Derek slides out of him before knotting then. “Do you wanna come?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods frantically. “How bad?”

Stiles doesn’t think words can do his need justice so he just gives Derek a pleading, desperate look.

Then he’s looking up and faced with Derek’s cock, and Derek says, “Me too.” His hand is moving on the shaft. “Make me come, and you come.” 

Stiles lifts a hand, and Derek pins it back down. 

“No. Your mouth.”

Stiles might have protested, but he’s already let a wolf fuck him for months on end. Too late to back off now. He opens his mouth and closes his eyes. Derek licks him – _there_ – all the time, it can’t be that bad, can it?

“Sweet little bitch,” Derek says softly. “Tight-assed, big-mouthed little bitch.” His breath hitches. “My bitch.”

If that makes Stiles whimper, eases the hinges of his jaw so that Derek can slip that final half-inch in, no one needs to know.

Derek’s big, and Stiles’ eyes are watering. He can’t breathe right. His cock hurts and his ass hurts. Everything hurts. Then Derek’s thumbs catch in the soft spots behind Stiles’ ears, and he’s moving him, careful, and the pain sorta. Mutes.

The only measure of time Stiles has left is the breaths he gulps when Derek pulls away, the dizziness when he doesn’t. The base of Derek’s cock starts to pulse when Derek is buried deep in Stiles’ throat, and Stiles’ jaw _hurts_ , stretching wide to accommodate his knot. 

Stiles makes a small noise, something like a whine, and Derek pulls away, spraying Stiles’ face

“Good,” Derek says, low and pained and out of breath. He sits back on the couch, pulling Stiles to lie across his lap. Stiles can only just rub against Derek’s thigh, but he’s grateful enough for it, for Derek’s fingers warding off emptiness

“You’ll learn,”Derek says in a low voice. “You’ll come from my knot. Grip it tight and whimper on it. You’re good, you’re so good,” as Stiles cries and comes.

After that it’s like the world is new, seen through a tinted glass. Arousal is a constant, distant ache that Stiles ignores. He’s learned to let Derek take him, learned to make his mind and his body empty holes to be filled with what Derek gives.

Derek hurts him, and kisses him, and makes him come, and all those things belong to Derek and his alone.

“I haven’t seen Scott around for a while,” his dad mentions at dinner one day, and Stiles just nods and thinks of sleep.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Plushwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/806243) by [Jinxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxy/pseuds/Jinxy)




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